What Friends Are For
by My Name Is Barry Allen
Summary: It had been a long, horrible day, Sherlock's ashamed and embarrassed that the day had got to him, that he was scared. A conversation with John helps him calm down and he realises it's okay to be scared as long as he has a friend to listen to his fears. *Bad summary please read*


**What Friends Are For **

**A/N: This is my first fanfiction in absolute ages and I am quite nervous about posting it. I have never wrote a Sherlock fanfiction, and I wasn't too sure if I wanted to make it case related, but I did want to focus on the beautiful friendship our boys share. Please let me know what you think :)**

I got the idea for this fic after reading **Cumberbatch Critter's Don't Skip Out On Me At Christmas, and having a chat about bathroom conversations :D **

It had been a long day, the longest they had seen in a while. Though Sherlock knew that was a stupid thought, a day could not be longer than another, not really anyway. Sherlock shook the thoughts away as he slid down the cold, tiled bathroom wall. He closed his eyes, flashes of black and red covered his lids and he quickly opened them, not surprised to find his breathing shallow.

"Pull yourself together," He hissed at himself.

Minutes passed in silence as Sherlock calmed himself down, a deep breath here, a slow count of ten there, all things that his mother had taught him when he was younger. Just as he was certain his heart beat had slowed back to normal there was a tap on the door. Just a gentle three beat tap, John's knock. But it was still enough to make Sherlock jump.

"Sherlock, it's me." John's voice was soft, tired. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Sherlock knew John wouldn't believe him, after the day they had he wasn't even sure he believed himself. Sherlock thought that would be enough, that John would head back to bed. But as the door opened, Sherlock didn't mind that John hadn't left him. "I'm sure I locked it." Sherlock whispered, his eyes barely looking up at John, a part of him was scared of what he would see there. Would John's eyes be mocking him? Would he be laughing at him? Would he hate how weak he was being? Deep down Sherlock knew the answers to all of the questions going through his mind, but he was still scared to look up at him.

"You did." John said gently, he crossed the small room and sat down beside him. There was barely enough room for the two of them, their legs were pressed against one another and their arms touching. Touch was something Sherlock wasn't used to, something he never thought he needed, but at that moment, being close to John like that was comforting, calmed him down more than the tricks his mother had taught him as a child. Maybe he could see why people were so desperate to find someone in their lives, the feeling inside as John leaned in just a little made him feel as though nothing could hurt him. Of course he knew it was a stupid thought, his mind screamed facts digs at him and for once he tried not to listen, he just wanted to relish in the comfort of his friend.

"I could have been in a compromising position." Was all that Sherlock could think to say.

"I took a chance. After the day we had…" John pressed softly. "Are you okay?"

Sherlock didn't respond, he didn't know how to. How could he tell John that every little noise in the house was making his body cower in fear, or when he closed his eyes all he could see, all he could feel was the blood on his skin. All he could hear was the fierce sound of gun fire.

"It wasn't your fault." John continued to speak. "We couldn't get there in time, it was impossible. He was a madman Sherlock. He was on medication for years," John said softly, "Nothing could have stopped his breakdown." Sherlock shook his head not believing him. "I know that you blame yourself, in what we do… it's never really been about life and death."

"Everything is about life and death." Sherlock muttered. "That's the whole point of life."

"But we have never really dealt with it. We deal with scandals, and thefts mostly, we've never tried to stop someone shooting people." His voice stayed soft and soothing. The tone calmed Sherlock more than the words he was speaking.

"I know people think that I haven't got emotions. I'm a sociopath." Sherlock sighed, his head leaning back against the tiles, his hands running through his hair. "It's partly true i suppose." He shrugged. "But two people died, because i couldn't stop him."

"Two people died because he had a gun and was desperate to leave this place." John said softly.

Sherlock didn't say anything for a few moments. The thoughts of the day running over and over through his mind; a boring morning, looking through the daily newspapers pointing out everything that was corrupt and how people must be morons for believing such rubbish, Lestrade calling him; desperate as ever. Going to the station, looking over a report on a young man, clinically depressed and unstable, beat and nearly killed his own mother, and believed to be on the run with a gun. The police of course had tried to find him; the man didn't want to be found and had made himself invisible. It took 1 hour and 27 minutes for Sherlock to find where he would be. When they got there he wasn't alone, a young girl; 15 years old was standing shaking in his arms, tears running down her pale face, her eyes screaming in terror. The minute the police were there he had the gun to her head, shouting at them to leave, they of course didn't, Sherlock had tried talking to him, reasoning with him, but it was too late, he fired the gun, her blood decorating the walls of the hold house, the police fired too and his blood joined hers as the two bodies crumbled to the floor.

"We couldn't save her?" Sherlock whispered.

"We couldn't." John said softly. "I wish we could have, but we couldn't." John moved forward slightly so he could wrap an arm around his shoulders pulling him into a tight hug. "It was a horrible day, one we are not going to forget in a while, but we can't dwell or second guess what you did today. It will make you crazy,"

Sherlock wanted to pull away from the embrace. It was weak being like this, he was weak. What would Mycroft say? He shook his head and closed his eyes letting himself relax into John's touch. "I don't know why it did John; but it scared me today."

"It scared me too. We're human Sherlock. I've been to war, seen buildings explode, my friends shot before my eyes, but today scared me too."

"It did?" The thought shouldn't have made him Sherlock feel better, it was selfish of him to think this way but knowing that John was scared made him feel less embarrassed.

"It did." John said with a gentle squeeze around him. "I can't promise it will take the fear away, but I can promise it will help you sleep."

"What will?" Sherlock asked.

"A scotch, or a whiskey. Take the edge away, have a good nights sleep. Tomorrow we will find a case, you will be bloody brilliant and today will be just what it was, a horrible day, but there will be better ones."

"I'm not much of a drinker." Sherlock replied.

"It will help. Believe me." Much to Sherlock's dislike John pulled away but he still felt safe. John stood up and held his hand out for Sherlock, he took it standing up too.

"Thank you John." Sherlock said quietly, almost shyly.

"What are friends for?" John said with a smile. Sherlock couldn't help but smile back, he didn't have too many experiences with friends but he ranked John the highest friend he had ever and possibly will ever had. Sherlock didn't praise John for being right about many things in life, in fact it was a pleasure he took pointing out just how many times a day John was wrong. But the whiskey did the trick, the burning warming feeling was enough to put his mind at ease and as he climbed into bed and closed his eyes, he didn't see the blood or feel afraid, instead he felt at ease knowing that John was right, today would just become a horrible day and yes there would be better days ahead and maybe there would be worst, but he wasn't alone through it. John would be there in the middle of the night to listen to him, to pour a drink and to make everything slow down and feel okay. And that thought alone was enough to make Sherlock fall into a dreamless sleep the rest of the night.


End file.
